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2013-02-09 Miss Understanding
When dealing with the mob, certain points of interest become vital: - Having something to offer them in exchange for what is wanted. - The ability to make them see things your way. - A contingency plan for the inevitable double-cross or snitches, because the mob is out to keep what is theirs, after all. - An exterminator. One never knows when there will be an infestation of... pests. Especially in darker places in Gotham where bats are known to inhabit. Or vigilantes. Or any other assortment of interlopers. Pests show up when unexpected, after all, and take many forms. Tonight's meeting was almost inevitable. He had been putting feelers out for some time, as well as trying to plant informants within the various mob factions in Gotham. While some of them had not gone according to plan, at least two had been brutally murdered, there was still enough to leave whispers trailing through the underworld for the past few days that a new player wanted to... "talk business". And waiting for them to arrive, with backup of course, Orion waited. His employer had chosen a different tack for tonight's work, though the wire Orion is wearing is enough for transmitting to that employer the results of the words to come. That employer, rather displeased with certain previous events, had made it clear that the only role the crew was to perform tonight, was in peacekeeping the mob while Orion did the talking, or sending a clear message to every last faction that games wouldn't be tolerated. He had another undertaking this evening. Huntress heard mumblings about something potentially big going down, so she's sneaky found the site of the meeting and is watching via a pair of compact binoculars from a (hopefully) safe distance away. She's waiting to see who all exactly shows up, and maybe she can snap some photos of bigwigs before breaking up the meeting. She's still got a few of the nifty little toys the Bat sent to her left, they might make the mobsters think it's the Bat or one of his ilk doing the party crashing. That would be unfortunate, the Bat or one of his ilk doing the party crashing, a thought that is in the minds of at least some of the assorted and organized criminals that are on sight. And there's no shortage of them, either. Three different families/crews, each with (armed) escort, but not the head of it in one case. That fact isn't lost on the others, and from that vantage point, there's already a suggestion of jeers and other heated commentary, perhaps insults, being given by the others. The insinuation is obvious, from the gestures given by one man towards the face of another. Orion, down there raising his hands and doing his best to keep this from turning into a firefight, is already speaking sharply, arguably the most visible person there amongst the uneasy, tension-filled crowd of at least 25 bodies. No one trusted the others. "Whether he came himself or not isn't important," Orion is saying, firmly. "We're here for business, to protect our interests and expand our dealings, not piss on each other just to see whose is more yellow." It still takes a few moments before tension subsides - slightly - before Orion is talking further. "My employer --" "/Your/ employer? He isn't here to talk to us either?" "My employer is buying. Did you want to let me finish? Or do you want him to think you're selling nothing but hot air?" Huntress breaks out her spiffy little mega-zoom camera and starts snapping photos, focusing on the one that seems to be addressing everyone else for a few shots before taking photos of the others and as many license plates as she can catch. Plenty of people, plenty of license plates, plenty of talking. Of the first two, cross referencing with certain databases would have plenty of priors on a few of the... escort faces, at least half, and Orion himself is by no means immune to the law enforcement system of keeping records, though in his case it's a bit reduced by comparison. No major violent crimes, but he did a little time for assault and is mentioned as a possible party with previous mob dealings - as if tonight didn't confirm that already. Helena will have plenty of fish to fry, in the coming days, should she choose to do a little grilling over an open flame... so to speak. "Nothing yet." A report from perimeter watchers, trying to keep an eye open for such pests. They're using night vision goggles, nothing fancy, alas. Budgets are what they are, and acquiring more sophisticated armaments is a matter that is blessedly in the works, after that convenient meeting in a certain submarine the other day. "Keep watching," comes the deep voice that is most certainly not just playing the idle hand and observing from afar, his own transmission on radio waves from on site, if not the bodies congregated below. "You know what to do if we have visitors." Huntress gets all the pictures she could possibly want and stows her camera away again, going back to her binoculars and this time scanning the area for perimeter guards. She's by no means a tactical expert like SOME people, but she can tell if they have gaps in their patrol patterns. These are not military level guards, by any stretch of the imagination. Taking them down one by one wouldn't be too hard, and despite the fact that a number of them are weak-limbed fools, they'll do for the purpose they were intended: raising an alarm, explicit or otherwise, should they be neutralized... if a bit delayed in the latter case. The frequent transmissions makes it clear that there are several, and they report in regularly, within minutes of their last. And while this is all occurring, Orion is getting to the heart of the matter. "He wants trouble. 'Keep the police busy', were his exact words. As much pressure on GCPD that can be managed without it requiring the mayor to call in the National Guard or some ridiculous shit like that. That will just get us all killed, if anyone fucks this up." Quite understandably, that particular 'want' starts its own tirade of incredulity from everyone involved, enough that one party is finding the whole idea ridiculous and ready to depart, which he'll be allowed to do barring other interference. The other two representatives of the current reigning mob cartels are at least looking at each other as if wondering whether or not they should join the departer. "I guess he didn't want to be the new Commissioner," Orion says with a shrug. "I guess I have your attention now, don't I?" Huntress considers for a few moments. She can /maybe/ get a few flashbang and smoke bomb type things into the middle of that meeting, but more than two and she'd be giving away her position to anyone paying attention. Or, she can try to get past the guards and create even more chaos that way. After watching the perimeter patrol for another moment she makes her decision and very carefully lines up her first shot -- aimed to hit as close to the meeting as possible but not in anyone's direct line of sight. "What do you mean new Comissioner? That's horseshit that you think you can get /Gordon/ replaced, and by one of us." The droning and argument continues on -- or would, until a decided distraction interrupts everyone, including what Orion was just about to say in response to that particular counterargument. "It's -- the Bat!" Said around choking words, by one of the crowd caught by the worst of what smoke heads their way. "Go! Go!" That's what Orion ends up trying telling the rest of the mob, who have a little difficulty understanding him right now. Orion himself isn't going to stick around and find out why an attack came now. He's going to try his best to stagger away, and naturally let the mob fend for itself, as smoke fills the area. Flashbangs are a bitch, more so in the dark when sight and sound are already hard to come by. "Find them!" That command cracks like a whip over the radio waves. The hornet's nest has well and truly been swat. Every last patrol is on high alert, and more besides, the source of that voice already heading towards the outskirts of where the detonation had come from. There are few places to lob a flashbang without being noticed by the patrols he had set up - or so he thinks anyway. More than just patrols are now looking for you, and one of them has far worse than a gun at his disposal. Huntress moves the moment her second shot is in the air, using the cover of the various pieces of machinery on her chosen rooftop to sprint to the edge of the building and use the zipline already in place there to cross to the next building over. Another sprint, and within a minute she's already almost a city block away from where she started, and setting up her aim to fire off more bolts at the now scattering mobsters. Her targets this time: their vehicles. Tiny tracking devices attached to the bolts that hopefully HAL has the presence of mind (do AIs have presence of mind?) to follow and record. With everyone in disarray, and an escape route already laid out, it seems, it will not be a terribly difficult thing to escape. That doesn't stop one more adept individual to sing out over the comms that he thinks he "sees him", catching sight of that zipline stunt. He might have his eyes open, but explaining exactly where for the /most/ interested pursuer is its own matter. Good help is so hard to find. Those bolts with devices attached will no doubt be quite valuable in the following days, in so far as illicit safehouses and more are concerned, which is naturally the exact location one of those vehicles will be visiting soon enough. "Let him go." It comes suddenly over the waves, when it becomes extremely unlikely that Helena will be caught. A number of the crew on the ground are still gasping, and building patrols can't get a clear shot. There might be gunfire ringing out in the night, especially at what people THOUGHT was a moving figure, but only once would that come near you, and even then they'd miss by over multiple feet behind you. "Dawson, Lerich, Vole, take the others and go. I will be with you shortly." There's a slight, ominous pause there, to let it sink in. "Orion and the rest on foot, see the doctor." Huntress backtracks to the middle building after firing off all of the trackers she had on hand. Pulling her binoculars again, she watches the goings on to see how badly disoraganized the mobsters have become while pulling a bundle of the wooden bolts from the quiver behind her back. You know, just in case. They're disorganized, scared, fleeing. Two little tricks, and it was all it took to set everyone in a frenzy, the vast majority thinking they're going to end up broken and bruised in Blackgate. They have no intentions of seeing that fate befall them; they're going. For those that organized the meeting in the first place, they're dispersing as well, but for different reasons. While some of them certainly are jittery over ending up in Blackgate in similar condition, it's their current head of operations that is using his own brand of fright to whip them in line out of here and stop jumping at shadows they /think/ might be the Bat. He's already told them to go, but Bane himself is keeping a sharp eye open for ... just the possibility he was wrong. He had been left to rot, alone, for years. This is just another cold night, with only shadows for company. For now. No communications come from him, but the masked man is... still looking. He isn't certain where, yet, but he stands still, shrouded, waiting for even the slightest proof that his thoughts of diversion are correct. But even he won't wait long. There's still a matter of failure to attend to, after all. Watching, Huntress can tell some of them aren't skittering away like bugs, they're moving in a more organized pattern. She debates trying to increase the spook value, and sees a likely fun little opportunity, setting her binoculars down to take a potshot at one departing vehicle's tires. Okay, maybe it's an unnecessary risk, but this has been too easy so far. And, hey, if someone gets arrested here tonight, it'll be a bonus. KTHUNK! The shot hits close to the mark, specifically the hub cap of the tire so desired to be aimed. It only encourages the driver to go faster, but there is a brief panic all the same, a distinct fishtailing as though the person behind the wheel had well and truly thought that control of the vehicle had been lost. The screeching of tires, the sound, it catches the attention of the one prowling for you. Like his presumed prey - and the masked man currently has no evidence to suggest that the Bat is not the one here, yet - like his prey, the man sticks to darkness, stalking and moving from shadow to shadow as much as one of his relative size can. Dark clothing helps, of course, but the lack of overall training in stealthy motions may well give him away. He tries, though, common sense that staying still in a shadow can make one hard to see kicking in, watching, waiting, hoping to catch sight of the source of these attacks, albeit a bit haphazard in this last case. The choice of disabling a vehicle makes no sense, as of yet. Huntress scoops up her binoculars and starts to relocate again, still going with the sniper mindset. She hasn't even considered that someone else might possibly be sneaking around. She stops and is about to move on when she thinks she hears something. Pausing, she listens further, trying to determine exactly what she heard. A cat? No, too big. Stray dog, maybe. He doesn't curse, he doesn't swear, not out loud anyway, already realizing that making any noise is rather against the idea of catching prey by surprise. Internally... perhaps there were a few obscenities. Regardless, the activity seems to not be bearing any fruit right now. The car that was just recently attacked seems to be getting away cleanly, no follow-through in the assault to guarantee potential trouble for at least one of the parties involved in the night's events. Instead, the masked man stays where he is, frustration rising even if no sign of it would ever reach his face. This had not gone to plan; there would have to be a better one in place next time. And perhaps with other countermeasures. So he starts to move, perhaps to take his leave, perhaps to make the assailant think he is about to. His destination, regardless, is his own waiting transportation that is off-site. Hearing the sound again, Huntress stays very still to figure out exactly where the source is, then leans very carefully around a corner to look. Her crossbow is ready and waiting in hand, but not already firing. After all, she's still not certain it isn't a stray down snuffling about for something to eat. And... there's a dumpster blocking her view. Annoying. She slinks around the obstruction, having to pass through a narrow stretch of tarmac illuminated by a streetlamp before she can return to the shadows against the side of the building. It's a risk and one she hates, but it was that or go over the dumpster, and that would have been anything but quiet. Soon enough, you will see for yourself that this was no stray, though it certainly was someone looking for a satisfying meal of source, albeit a sustenance of violence. Your eyes will be treated to his tall, powerful form, tense with preparation for being attacked at any moment - one does not survive a maximum security prison with murderers without that essential skill. Bane is masked, ready at the moment to inject himself with the element of surprise, not looking back over his shoulder despite the 'itch' on his neck. You might well be able to follow him, if you pursue, through the twists and turns to where his driver is waiting. It would require following if one wanted to hear what he has to say to the individual behind the wheel. "Was I followed?" He doesn't need to state the obvious, that only a correct answer, including hindsight, will do, and for that reason there will be considerable scrutiny, with night-vision lenses, following the man in charge to that vehicle. Being followed would not do, at all. Huntress blinks, then squints at the tall man in a mask and starts to follow him while pulling something from her belt -- yet another of the interesting little toys that the Bat had Oracle send to her that one time. It's her last one, and she really really hopes that HAL is paying attention. She follows only until she's close enough to throw the tiny item, taking a chance and aiming it to ricochet off of the ground and (hopehopehope) get it to stick to the back of the man's belt. "Possible," the driver replies, still looking and not taking his eyes off of the surroundings, specifically the direction that the larger, masked male came from. And every other direction. "Let's go for a drive, all the same." The small little device that rides on his belt will be in for quite a journey, as well, as you will no doubt find out sooner or later. Here, there, enduring Gotham traffic in public streets, a trip to a warehouse for some time... and then the signal would give out as it becomes clear that someone found the device and crushed it. At that warehouse. Huntress scrams back up to her original vantage point and looks out over what's left of the site of the meeting. She's figured that everyone is gone by now, but she waits and watches for a while. Then she heads back to where her Ducati is hidden and from there watches the path of the tracking device for a while. When the signal dies, she frowns a bit. By the way the thing was travelling, the tall man had expected something and took all due precautions. Damn. Last tracker was wasted then. Category:Logs Category:RPLogs